


The End of Days

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Sad-urday [9]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Death, Depression, Drugs, Future Fic, Gen, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9161755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: He woke up beside cold flesh. No life beneath it, no warmth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this might be OOC but it was an idea i just wanted to get off my chest lmao

The weight of the mattress shifted. Pickles' eyes fluttered, feeling Nathan's skin, hot and sticky beside him. He was tired, teetering over and throwing his arm over Pickles' side, mouth half-open in the darkness. 

"Nate'n, you alright? Y'feel kinda warm."

"Feelin' a little sick tonight." He grunted in response. "I'll be fine by morning."

"Alright, if you need to puke, don't forget to get up."

"I won't."

"Did you take any meds?"

"Yeah."

"Stay safe."

Nathan didn't respond.

-

He woke up beside cold flesh. No life beneath it, no warmth. Immediately, Pickles shook Nathan, worried his body temperature was dropping low. No response. His lips were sticky with dried blood, and half-asleep, Pickles continued to shake him. He pressed and pressed. His hands reached Nathan's chest to find it no longer rose or fell. His heart nearly stopped, and the wails heard throughout Mordhaus that very Sunday morning shook the universe forever.

It was an overdose, they said. Nathan overdosed on painkillers and DIED.

All he left was a letter, in the Mordhaus bathroom. Little detail, little writing at all, just a sharp, honest, "Goodbye". Pickles clutched the paper so tightly it ripped in half. The tragic and sudden death of Nathan Explosion was ruled a suicide. His funeral would be private, held at Mordhaus. There would be no eulogies or readings, no organ music, no nothing. Nathan wasn't about that. He just wanted to be buried in silence. It said so in his will. "Bury me in the most deafening silence. That'd be totally fucking brutal." It read, in his always-messy handwriting. It was so like him. Nobody could believe he had died, or that he had killed himself, for that matter.

And the funeral was quiet. For a little while. They watched him, carried in in an open coffin. He just looked like he was sleeping. And as they lowered him in, a set of hands flattened on the mahogany cover, and a loud "No!"

It wasn't Pickles. It was Murderface.

They had to pull him away, as he practically screamed bloody murder.

"Moidaface, you can'ts-"

"Let go of me! Fuck off! Come on, Nathan, the jig'sch up, you can schtop pretending to be dead, th-thisch'sch the only thing I'm good at! I can't- I can't do thisch by myschelf, fucking get up already, it ischn't funny anymore!" His yelling devolved into weak, broken sobs as Skwisgaar pulled him off, standing next to a silent and despondent Toki. Pickles didn't say a word. Instead he turned the other way towards Charles, who was wiping his eyes beneath his glasses.

They were intended to meet up about the fate of Dethklok the next day, but Toki was still non-responsive, and Murderface had to be carried to the ER after nearly dying from blood loss. The marks on his wrists spoke more than any words would be able to. Skwisgaar refused to leave his room.

"I just don't know what to do anymore."

Pickles sighed, as Charles sat across from him in his bedroom. "Bein' a drummer is my whole life. I can't do nuthin' else."

"We'll have to figure it out." Charles sighed right back, and stared out the big window. "But without its frontman, I'm not certain Dethklok has any future."

"I'm scared. None a' this feels real."

Charles didn't respond, for a moment.

"I am too."

"You ain't never scared a' nuthin', Ofdensen."

"Of course I am." He looked down. "But I swore to watch over Dethklok above all else. Even myself... And I failed."

-

The meeting was solemn. It took place in the hospital, Murderface still hooked up to a blood bag, pale and exhausted. Skwisgaar was a tired wreck, hair matted and eyes blackened around the edges. Poor guy looked like he hadn't slept in days, and he stank of piss and alcohol. Toki was still quiet, staring into space, not replying to any stimuli or speaking even a word. More sullen than ever before, Charles said what they all knew. Dethklok could no longer continue. They had to play one more concert. They'd use the drum machine, so Pickles could sing in Nathan's place.

"Do I gotta?"

"We don't have anyone else. And I know that if Nathan would've wanted anyone to take his place, it'd probably be you."

Pickles lowered his head. It might've been true. Just maybe.

The room emptied out, leaving only Pickles and the bedridden bassist. They stared at each other in silence.

"Hey." Murderface spoke up first. "Hey!"

"Huh?"

"Picklesch, I need you to do schomethin' for me."

"Jest... make it quick, I wanna get home 'n take a nap."

"Okay." He tugged on his IV, slowly pulling the needle out. Blood poured out of the small wound in his arm. "I want you to take thisch, and I want you to fucking kill me. Schtab me, fucking, schtrangle me, I don't care."

"Murderface! You can't- you can't pull dat out! You fuckin' moron!"

"I can't do anything anymore. Juscht finish me off. Pleasche." His hands met his wrinkled pug-face as he hunched over. "I can't do anything, I wasch only good for thisch... I can't do anything... I couldn't even do anything then, but now I can't- I really can't do anything! Kill me already, come on!"

"I can't."

Murderface gaped. Pickles looked down.

"...I juscht..."

"I can't do anythin' either." He was more honest than ever. Now that Nathan was gone, he had no reason to lie to people, to make himself look good. "If another one 'f us died, I'd... I don't even know. Dis was d' best thing I ever did in my entire life."

Murderface whimpered, latching onto one of Pickles' arms, blood gushing from his own.

"I'm gonna be alone again."

"Hey, if y'ever need me, jus' gimme a little ringy-ding and I'll be here." 

He looked at Murderface, who was now staring at him with his puffy eyes. He said a phrase that stuck with Pickles forever.

"Call in the nursche, my arm'sch bleedin' and I wanna live."

-

The concert was planned a decent amount of time from when it was decided on, which gave the remainder of Dethklok enough time to recuperate. Until then they still got to bum around Mordhaus as though nothing had happened. Pickles didn't like it. He constantly felt as though Nathan was just upstairs, still asleep, and he could go get him at any moment. It was a sick feeling.

After Murderface returned from the hospital, still feeling like garbage, but living, the world just slowed to a halt. Nothing happened. Nobody wanted to do anything.

Pickles walked down to the living room at 2 AM, finding Toki still on the couch. Everyone had given up on breaking through to Toki, and this included Pickles, who decided to shuffle off to the kitchen until he heard a shout behind him.

"Pickle?"

He turned, shocked.

"Toki? Izzat you?"

"I misses 'im, Pickle." Toki gripped the neck of a bottle, slugging down a mouthful of Jack Daniels and whimpering. "Gods, I misses 'im."

"...Yeah..."

"I don'ts wants to goes back to Norways. I was hopings I'd be here forevers." His words slurred together as Pickles approached. "But now it ams all gones... I would've listens. If he was sads, I would've listens all nights."

"I would'a too."

"Why didn't we, Pickle?"

"He never said nothin'." He sat down next to Toki, taking a swig of vodka. "I thought he was as happy as a guy could ever get. Turns out he was jest as fecked-up as d' rest of us."

"Pickle..." Toki was sobbing and hiccuping and nearly impossible to understand because of just how drunk he was. Pickles took him in his arms and patted his back, listening to him rant and rave. "I loves workin's with 'im, even ifs he thinks Toki ams a dumb fuckings stupids dimwits, nothin's makes Tokis happier than playin's for Dethklok. Amn't's ready to lose this, Pickle, I-I'm scares, I can't does nothin's rights..."

"Me neither." Tears rolled from Pickles' half-lidded eyes.

"Don't forgets mes, Pickle."

Through deep sobs, Pickles replied.

"I can't."

-

Mere days before Dethklok's final concert. Toki had returned from his despondence and, while not chipper in the slightest, was finally making conversation and performing basic self-care. If he weren't about to perform a concert in honor of his dead boyfriend, Pickles would be happy to see the kid recover.

Noon, in the living room, Toki and Murderface had gone outside for the first time in weeks to go buy soap. Pickles was alone with Skwisgaar, who was quietly fiddling with his Gibson, looking exhausted and unclean. No longer did women pass in and out of Skwisgaar's bedroom. He was always alone, and honestly, this was one of the few times Pickles had seen him outside of his room since Nathan's funeral all those weeks ago.

"Ja, Pickle..." He sighed. "I forgets we ams humans, sometimes. Fuckin' stupids regular jacks-offs." His long fingers pinched around the thickest string of his guitar, giving it a mighty pluck. "I forgets we can dies."

"I guess dat makes sense."

"Why he even does it? Looks at us, we's got alls anyone could evers asks for. We's all cryin's like sads-sacks. Sittin's in de laps of luck-surries, and we can'ts evens smiles. De fucking gods of metals done kills himselfs."

"Damn... Maybe we're all depressed."

"...I gots no reasons to be."

"Y'don't need a reason, Skwisgaar." Pickles pressed his cheek into his own hand. "And havin' a dead co-worker seems like a reason."

"...Sometimes I feels like he was my dads or somethin's." Skwisgaar grunted, sinking further into his chair. "Dat ams fuckings weird when I says it out louds. Neverminds, I'm goin's to my rooms."

"No, wait." Skwisgaar stopped. "I want... I wanna help you."

"You wants to...?"

"I miss 'im." Pickles whined. "But I feel like if he's out dere, 'n he sees me cryin'... I-I don't know. Dis's the only way I know how to... to..."

"I gets what you means." The guitarist rolled forward with his elbows on his knees and his jaw in his palms. "I just feels like I didn'ts knows him well enoughs. Spends so much times just rottin's on clouds nines dat I forgets about everythin's else. It ams likes comin's downs from a really good highs."

"...I'm glad to 'ave been a part a' dis." Pickles looked at Skwisgaar, his eyes now bloodshot. "Dethklok, I mean."

"We ams goin's to be swallows up by histories."

"I won't forget you if y'don't forget me."

Skwisgaar let out a choking sound, followed by a disgusting, muddled whimper, face crinkled and hot tears flooding over his face, trailing through his black eyeliner and making it leak. This was the first time Pickles had ever seen the guy even emote properly. "Skwisgaar? D-did I say somethin' wrong?!"

"I ain'ts nevers gonna forgets you's, Pickle, I tinks I'm- I'm gon's to miss you most of alls!"

-

"Hey, Nate'n. 's been awhile."

He stood in front of the grave. Decorative and expensive, sculpted into a big statue of the powerful Nathan Explosion, towering over every other corpse in the graveyard like a guardian. "Tonight's th' last Dethklok concert. We're all, uh... we're all doin' pretty bad, but..."

The sunset skies rolled behind the silhouette of the statue, its brow furrowed and fist clenched around the falling sun.

"But I hope you'll be there. We fixed up the drum machine so it ain't gonna murder everyone. And then... I dunno. Maybe I'll join another band. But... everyone misses you. A whole lot."

Silence. Not that Pickles expected a dead man to answer him.

"I dunno where you gone, but I hope y'can hear me." He dropped Nathan's favorite lyric pen at the mound of dirt where he was buried. "G'bye, Nate'n."

In the distance, as he left, Pickles could've sworn he faintly heard a gruff voice whisper, "thank you".


End file.
